


Iris's Most Eligible Bachelor (but not for long)

by MythosMeta



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: D&D, F/F, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 23:17:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19896007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythosMeta/pseuds/MythosMeta
Summary: group bonding, grif POV. triplets and co. were found and brought into the fold. church isn’t a hologram and maine is there because ¯\_(ツ)_/¯THIS IS A GRIF LOVING ZONE





	1. Chorus’s Hit Sitcom: Everybody Loves Grif

“OW! Fuck!” Grif groans into the Earth. Moon dirt. Whatever. He is in so much pain. He heaves himself onto his back and stares upside down at Locus, who is naturally expressionless with his helmet on but still manages to look annoyed. If Locus didn’t want to work with a sluggish Grif, he should’ve reconsidered having his sessions at the ungodly hour of 9:00am.

“Grif, were I truly after you then, you’d be dead. If you have not improved, you could at least perform at the level I have seen before. Where is the resourcefulness you demonstrated on Chorus? In the Blues and Reds base?”

Grif can hear the scowl in his voice and makes sure to scowl right back. “Look, I don’t know if you noticed at the time, but I don’t usually get away with cool stuff like punching people and firing weapons. Mostly I just get lucky. I hit them with a car or throw them off cliffs with a car or… y’know I drive the car, dude.”

“Precisely, _dude._ You have no professional training, yet here you stand, war hero, slayer of your enemies, survivor of a lifetime with your superpowered and dangerously clumsy associates.” Locus sighs. “Why, then, can I not make you a real soldier? What flaw is there to my methods?”

For all his lack of combat skill, Grif can spot the edge of an internal spiral into self-doubt a mile off.

“Pretty sure it’s not you.” He slowly sits up but makes no attempt to prepare for another spar. “I just don’t operate that way. And definitely couldn’t win with some detailed plan and no immediate life threat, learned that one on Chorus. It’s not the end of the world if we have to try something else.”

Locus seems to mull this over.

“I would prefer you able to attack no matter the circumstances, but I suppose you know yourself best. Agent Maine is already handling your weapons training. Stealth, then, after a brief break.”

A short laugh escapes Grif before he can stop it. “Stealth? Locus, you can turn invisible. How am I supposed to compete with that?”

He watches Locus’s helmet tilt and catches a quiet scoff. “Now I know you’re underestimating. Grif, where were you two hours ago?”

“Uh… I think I was napping in the third floor hall closet.”

“And why were you there instead of your room?”

“Well, between you and me, I keep a decent collection of necessities all around the base just in case, so I can stay out of the way of someone else’s dumb shenanigans or Blue Team drama or whatever; you know how it is. This time I was hiding from Sarge so he wouldn’t make me patrol the stupid perimeter again. I mean, there’s no point! There’s literally no one on this whole planet other than our group and our… extended family?”

Grif isn’t really paying attention to his own rant but he definitely notices Locus fidgeting with his rifle. He tenses for a second before recognizing it as a nervous habit. Probably from being referred to as family. Grif smiles from behind the safety of his visor. Nice.

“Yes,” Locus finally continues, “and you were able to avoid him all morning.”

“Hey, I could do it for days if it was target practice. Back in Blood Gulch, my record was two whole weeks. I mean I had Simmons’ help that time, but that canyon only had so many hiding places.”

“There you have it. You don’t need specialized armor to slip away, even with limited options, from people who know you well. The skills are present, you simply need to implement them for less… mundane purposes. You have potential, Grif, and I will continue to search for and develop it.”

Grif almost wants to complain about how much work that would be, but senses there was some sort of _moment_ happening here. “Thanks, I guess. Is this part of your repentance thing? Because I don’t wanna ruin that if I… y’know.”

“You will not let me down.”

There is a loaded pause before Locus speaks again. “That wasn’t a threat, obviously. I meant you won’t let me down even if you fail to master stealth to exacting standards, not that I would-”

“I get it,” Grif laughs lowly but genuinely this time, “you’re just trying to help and you won’t kill me for fucking up.” He clambers to his feet and walks up, laying a hand on Locus’s shoulder. “Really, thanks. You’re actually a pretty cool guy.”

Locus says nothing, and Grif ambles back into the base. He glances out a window in time to catch him yanking off his helmet, blush hot on his face. Grif hums to himself and heads for the kitchen. That guy was almost as weird as Simmons.

\---

Maine is the one who catches him next.

They had grown to be weirdly close. Maine’s best friends were Carolina and Wash, of course. Those two were each close with Maine before and the only ones who could easily understand his grunt-and-growl language. But he and Grif also had something. Grif wasn’t sure what it was, but it was nice after all the throwing stuff and pushing each other off cliffs. So Grif met him halfway and learned ASL so they could really connect. Or was it Space Sign Language out here? Anyway, it was the fourth language Grif was fluent in now and deep down he knew he was no slouch mentally but he was kind of shocked at how well he’d picked it up. Maine talked a lot more than usual as he was learning, and Grif’s painfully eventful life proved useful in never running out of stories to tell in their down time. Or lack thereof.

He tries not to think about how Locus will most likely abduct him for Stealth 101 directly after this. So much for breaks. He sees him now, a few yards away, training Simmons in knives. They talk more during training than Locus and Grif do. Probably about nerd stuff like Batman or something. No offense to Locus, he just thinks that serious, brooding shit is silly on both of them. Oddly enough, it almost seems like they’re talking about him with how often Simmons keeps glancing over too. But then he looks away and keeps talking to Locus, who’s clearly making an effort to not check what Maine and Grif are doing even once. They both look kind of flustered, but they look like that a lot.

In the next few minutes, Simmons manages this sick stunt with TWO knives and catches his eye. Grif tries to give him a bro nod that might’ve packed a little more heat than he was prepared to receive. Whatever, let Simmons be weird. That was a hot move and it deserves to be acknowledged. Along with the braces that flash in the light when Simmons gives him that shaky smile. Fuck what everyone else had to say, they look good on him.

Maine sounds a grunt that signaled training is about to start. _Maineing,_ Grif thinks to himself in a hopeless attempt at levity. Whatever happens in the next two hours is going to leave him sore as hell. Then he has to do stuff _again_? It just wasn’t fair. This soldier stuff was so much trouble.

But as usual, Maine hasn’t thought up any new techniques or even refined his own battle plans to Locus’s satisfaction. It still hurts like a bitch, but they shoot and slice stuff with the Grifshot and Bruteshot replica like always. They argue over the proper name for the weapon as they go, using the few words Grif picked up in growl-speak as their hands are occupied with the weight of their firearms.

They talk more during maintenance (“mainetenance” he mumbles to himself, waving Maine off at his questioning sound). Usually all they really bother to get into is about combat, like how much fighting in high places sucks or how bad Tex’s punches hurt. Today, while they’re talking about what wrestling a real bear would be like, Grif mentions that Locus tried to show him hand-to-hand. He doesn’t realize his mistake until Maine puts down the Bruteshot completely. He crosses his wrists right over left, both facing the ground, and cocks his head. ‘Fight?’ he asks.

Grif despairs. Arguing won’t get him out of this. Maine is excited.

So they fight.

It isn’t as much of a disaster for him as he feared. Grif has picked up a lot since Sidewinder. He doesn’t win alone. He never expected to and maybe never will, but he doesn’t get his ass completely beat into the ground three seconds in either. Maine isn’t big on finesse, sure, but he’s big in general and just as strong as the last time Grif jumped on his back. He doesn’t lead with that this time, waiting for a real opening.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Grif’s no expert tactician but it doesn’t take a genius to notice Maine has a bad temper. He gets frustrated with time and tends to swing too wide. So Grif stays low and gets in close. Too close for Maine, just close enough for Grif’s much shorter arms to land as many hits as he can get. After that he’s high on adrenaline, thinks it’s been almost a full minute against the guy who used to be the Meta in a real honest one-on-one and he’s not sure if that’s incredible but it certainly feels like it. Like he’s crafty and useful and maybe not too strong but durable as fuck.

His advantage doesn’t last much longer. The next thing he knows, he’s flat on his face just like he was this morning, arms burning so hot he can’t bring himself to stand again just yet. He doesn’t prepare for the next blow. It won’t come.

Someone’s boots are approaching, lighter than Maine’s stomps. He rolls himself onto his back to see Simmons standing over him. Easily twice as scary as anything during the spar. He lays there in the dirt blinking up at him like a real hero. But there’s Simmons gazing down at him like he single-handedly holds their alien Sun in the sky.

Simmons kneels to help him up. And up and up until he’s standing on his toes, being crushed into Simmons’ chest and just as quickly, released in embarrassment.

“That was uhh neat, I guess. Pretty neat stuff, huh… bro?” his voice trails off.

Grif has this power where he’s overtaken by the need to reassure Simmons and all effects of the last few minutes fade so he can appear completely normal. His tiny lazy smile is in place as he does his one self-appointed job.

“For sure, bro. That Maine is one tough Oreo.”

Simmons shakes off his awkwardness long enough to show concern. “You’re not hurt, are you? That looked intense…”

“Totally fine.” He takes a single step and winces. “Okay, a little bruised, but no big deal.”

Grif turns back to check in with Maine when he sees Donut poke his head out through the front door and enthusiastically wave. Maine is back that way and turns to see what he’s looking at. He stiffens like he’s about to bolt. Grif frantically shoo’s Donut back inside so he can ask Maine what’s up. Maine feverishly makes two signs over and over and it takes Grif a second to decipher the first and put it together.

‘Florida. Man.’

That’s it for Grif. He goes ballistic. He’s in hysterics as Simmons and Maine try to figure out what’s wrong with _him._

Few people are aware that Grif considers himself a man of the arts. Not the boring shit Simmons keeps trying to drag him out of their room and their perfectly fine Internet-enabled base to see. The real arts. Art history. Internet art history. Memeology, some call it. Grif knows the mythos of Florida Man. It’s funny as shit.

That can’t possibly be what Maine is talking about but what if? He shakes his head at himself, tries to wipe the tears from his eyes and breathe and gathers that Donut freaked Maine out, reminding him of some other Freelancer. He puts his hands to his own chest and makes “I’m fine, we’re fine, all friends” gestures as he explains to Simmons what just happened. Simmons tries to sound stern as he lectures him on not upsetting the wild cards around here but Grif can see it in his eyes. Were it not for the giant right next to him he’d have lost it too.

Maine and Grif make plans to tell each other more about their friendly and extremely dangerous teammates over the next weapons practice.

\---

As far as Grif knew, Church had never gone out of his way to make expressions of friendship, affection, or most emotions that weren’t anger obvious. But it was becoming clearer, piece by piece, pulled punch by held door, that lately he was trying to make nice with Grif.

Donut was apparently experiencing the same bizarre phenomena.

The two of them decided that evening that they’d try to make the night a chill thing for Church. They agreed on serving margaritas and using a Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville theme, both of which only Donut would actually handle, but Grif would judge their relaxation power before the party. Naturally, it was high.

But it’s also movie night and it was decided through a series of contests of strength and games of luck that they’d be watching High School Musical. In the finals, Donut beat Simmons in the arm wrestling match over that or a Star Trek marathon. Grif may or may not have helped him get there through the gambling bits. The nerd really wanted to watch Star Trek, and he was weak to his sad face, okay? Grif let him have the rest of his margarita to cheer him up.

No one but Tucker wanted to watch Reservoir Dogs, but Donut crushed him too to “prove gay slut superiority over the het menace!” Kai high fived him. Church thought he was being more subtle, but everyone saw him ruffle Donut’s hair during the previews. Even Sarge patted him on the back for the destruction of Blue morale on the way to his recliner. Donut was always positive but he was really beaming now, and Wash is still sneaking him serious heart-eyes for it.

Yeah, now was a good time for Grif to turn his attention to some other movie-goers. Tucker sits with Junior in his lap, clearly trying to drink himself under the table. Grif can only just hear him muttering “Hey… Vic was cool, guys. Guys Vic was funny. Why did we leave him? Where is he? Junior, do you remember-” Grif tunes him out and drifts back for a minute, trying to think of when he last heard from that guy in the computer. He swears he saw Carolina with him at least once.

A glance in her direction reveals that she is staunchly ignoring that scene, facing the screen like a good citizen of movie night. Grif is about to move on when he sees her eyes flicker to the pair squished into the chair next to her. There sit Ohio and her girlfriend Sherry, both clearly ogling Carolina in the dark green formal vest she still has on from the concert. She soon flashes them a smirk and a hammed up flex of her arms to Oh’s excited giggling, Sherry rolling her eyes but looking a little redder than usual, and Tucker’s loud accusations of unfairness.

Today’s event was fancier than the Velicorocktor Squad (better name pending) was used to. Grif had gone so far as to wear his t-shirt that had a suit jacket printed on it to the stage. It was, after all, their first time performing on the stage Sarge and Lopez built. The song that afternoon was as good… well, bad... enjoyably trashy as the recorded version they had. He made a mental note to bug Simmons about finally writing lyrics for a new song. Grif wanted to include him in the band in the beginning, but the guy was such a nerd the only musical thing he knew besides reading it was four years of flute. From high school marching band. Not to mention his stage fright. Yeah, Grif was just gonna make a point to wink at him before every show. The next best thing to rock star had to be the lead guitarist’s favorite groupie. He thought up another note to never, ever call Simmons that out loud.

Grif finally chooses to stop observing creepily and say something to someone, so he starts a conversation with Carolina about the concert. She interrupts during his conclusions about Simmons’ lack of band talent.

“Simmons and I do have a surprising amount in common, but I know for a fact that he can sing and dance reasonably well.”

“Carolina, I know theoretically he likes dancing, but we’ve been to the Vegas Quadrant tons of times. I’ve never seen him honestly try to do anything like that for fun.”

“There must be too many strangers there. And maybe here too, now, but he’ll do it when he thinks he isn’t being watched. Probably because he won’t even do fun things if he isn’t sure he’s perfect at them because he’s terrified of judgment." She says something under her breath, then. Grif couldn't prove it but he thinks he hears "Dare I say mood" before she continues. "I saw by accident but I swear it’s true and yes I know what good singing really sounds like. For the last time, I was messing with you guys.”

Grif was going to press her for details, but then Carolina spots Oh and Sherry set up the dart board and gets up to join the game. They’re quiet enough until Oh makes a dumb Cupid joke. Sherry is summarily hit with a dart by accident(?) and chases Oh through the kitchen yelling something about how “THE FAKE WAR IS OVER! WE CAN’T KEEP DOING THIS, VERA!”

They come tearing back into the living room and almost knock over the lego castle the group on the floor is building. Donut leaves the kitchen on their heels, scooting around the lovers’ spat and setting a tray of drinks down on an empty chair next to the lego friends. He sits by Wash where a smaller, more military-minded fort is being constructed with pink accent blocks. Donut adds a few when the movie isn’t playing a show tune. Across from them is Idaho, cross-legged with Iowa in his lap, and Caboose, all working on the castle and what looked to be a half-finished dragon.

Caboose turns down the offered tray, gesturing to his collection of soda cans. Donut has a margarita, but when Wash reaches for one, his hand is redirected to the orange juice.

Wash must’ve made a face Grif couldn’t see because Idaho pipes up, “Donut’s right. Alcohol is bad for people with head injuries.” He reaches for his whiskey and fails to stop Iowa from getting vodka in his coffee in a bastardization of a White Russian.

“Donut YOU have a head injury,” Wash argues.

 __“__ That was before my resurrection.”

“You still wear your hearing aids!”

Donut raises his eyebrows over the rim of his glass.

“Hypocrites,” Wash mutters, but he drinks his juice.

“F- Five things we’re hippo- uh hypocrites about. Go!” Iowa addresses the circle at large.

Idaho snags the gimme, “Drinking when you’re not supposed to.”

“Haha, one!”

Ohio projects from the kitchen, “Making out in someone else’s hou-”

“WE ARE NOT DOING THAT,” comes Sherry’s voice over a muffled crash and an annoyed _"¡Ay, mierda!"_ Lopez must be in the kitchen on drink duty. Or just avoiding everyone in general.

“Uh, two?”

“Oh, oh, pick me! I know!”

Iowa taps Caboose’s shoulder like they’re playing tag.

Grif gives his ears a break on that one and lets the rest of the game fade from his awareness. Whatever Caboose submitted for his answer included a long story about something Church told him once. Plenty of others chimed in on it, and Grif didn’t have it in him to follow that thorough application of Blue logic.

Donut drags Iowa into a conversation about the state itself despite Freelancer names being random and Iowa’s confusion. He talks about growing up on a farm there and developing a fear of spiders which Iowa shares and somehow they bond over spider hate alone for several minutes.

Ohio finishes another lap and takes cover in their group. Sherry isn’t far behind, collapsing on her, exhausted, and combing her fingers through Ohio’s hair. She compliments Donut’s taste in colors which he’s ecstatic about. Grif doesn’t process their conversation about the allure of pink leading into Donut’s moms, but can’t miss the conclusion that is Donut shouting “LESBIAN RIGHTS!” which Ohio, Sherry, and a few other drunken party-goers echo.

Iowa and Caboose yell along and continue yelling for the sake of yelling until Idaho calms them down. They settle back into their construction. Caboose watches Iowa fumble and drop some legos with interest.

“Your hands are big and strong just like mine! Makes it hard to hold all these tiny blocks, huh?”

Idaho gently grasps Iowa’s wrist to look for himself while Iowa answers.

“Right? It’s from being so good at climbing. I- I wonder who’s got more upper body strength.”

“Oh! Well this one time I had to carry the Warthog for the Red Sargeant-”

Idaho shut that down before Iowa gets any bright ideas about testing their power together. He still hasn’t let go. Iowa doesn’t seem to mind, tired of their little project, leaning his head back on Idaho’s shoulder. Caboose keeps rambling, but Iowa doesn’t say any more. Grif suspects he’s fallen asleep.


	2. Dungeons and Dragons and Dumbasses. and Drive-ins and Dives

Idaho uses his free hand to direct Caboose with the instruction booklet on how to finish the dragon statue and Simmons eventually shows, taking the open space at Grif’s side like he reserved it for him. Maybe he did. Subconsciously. Simmons leans over Grif to talk about the latest D&D session, which also featured a castle and a dragon because he was old school like that. Carolina, who had apparently gotten bored of darts and retrieved her own drink at some point, sat on the floor next to Wash as everyone got into the game talk. 

Ohio’s half-elf thief and Sherry’s halfling monk were partners, which Grif thought was weird because it made their characters look kind of like each other, but they _were_ an odd couple after all. Iowa’s dragonborn ranger and Idaho’s human cleric were partners, and those four were something like a team. Though it was more like Idaho backing up Iowa on his Dragon Ball Z related demands because he wasn’t the DM for once and liked to watch another by-the-book micromanager suffer his fate. And also to balance Iowa out with a more realistic and conversational character. Ohio and Sherry mostly fought one another in some rival romance they were writing, but Sherry would occasionally take potshots at the other two. They hardly ever got anything useful done.

Donut’s tiefling bard and Wash’s half-orc cleric went on wacky side missions together. Then there was Maine’s dragonborn barbarian and Carolina’s overpowered orc sorcerer, who is still widely loved, and they were all sort of a thing. Carolina’s character made good friends with Simmons’ heavily prosthetic-ed human wizard party-insert because they had basically the same tragic backstory. Shocker. But naturally Simmons’ partner was Grif’s half-elf fighter (with impressive vehicle proficiency, might he add) despite him sucking at roleplay even though his character was honestly himself. Not because he’s a bad liar, he just can’t take everyone else’s performances seriously and puts on a stone face as he tries not to crack up. And maybe their characters kissed once what about it, come on guys, it’s a game. 

The most unlikely team was Sarge’s dwarf paladin and Locus’s elf rogue who’d played rock paper scissors for the chance to lead the fight against the main party but ended up becoming a team that specializes in guerrilla warfare and intimidation. They had to talk to Simmons a lot.

Doc was an on-and-off member. He and O’Malley shared a demonically possessed human warlock who was a healer with a travelling shop the parties would sometimes run into. O’Malley’s trouble understanding the concept of a game and Donut’s adventure where Doc sounded kind of cool and strong made the Doc half way scarier to interact with in Grif’s humble opinion. This has nothing to do with that time O’Malley announced to the table that the only thing in Grif’s brain room was Simmons and Grif kicked him in the shins and had to apologize to Doc later. Anyway. 

Kai was part-time too because she was always going off-world for business ventures, but she had a half-elf, Grif’s sister even in a fantasy. Her bard performed in an all-women circus that only existed when she was around and mysteriously always appeared in whatever city Grif was closest to. Grif tried to convince her to take some other fantasy job, but all that earned him was a lecture on independence, business models, and somehow also feminism. He loves his sister but he’s heard and agreed with her points before, practically memorized the last one. And yet he sat through it patiently once more. He must be listening to Simmons too much.

Eventually even Church joined the game with a gnome druid, supposedly to shepherd Caboose’s dwarf barbarian through the rules, but everyone knew he wanted to play too. He ended up being pretty good at combat and roleplay; add in Caboose’s strength to throw around and they were formidable despite being only a pair. They tended to bounce around and hang out with everyone in turns.

Sure Simmons was a hardass and several people often destroyed his carefully laid plans and everyone bitched at each other for hours, but it was fun. Grif was glad he chose not to side with Tucker who was a party pooper who didn’t want to play the nerd game. As soon as Grif learned to speak alien he’d translate for Junior so the only fun member of the Tucker family could come be cool with them. He had to remember to dunk on Tucker in person with that one. Church would totally high five him for it.


	3. Take Me To Drurch (Drunk Church)

Speaking, or thinking, of Church, Grif hasn’t seen him all night. He examines the small extraneous groups and finds him far in the back, strangely, between Locus and Maine. Church is comically short next to them and obviously a few too many margaritas in. At least he looks like he’s having fun. He continues his litany of obscenities in the face of their quiet acceptance until Locus, looking ever so slightly amused, herds him to Grif’s couch. Grif shoots Locus a bitter expression that he knew Red Team Telepathy would communicate loud and clear. _As if I don’t already have enough to deal with over here,_ it says. The small twitch to Locus’s mouth simply grows and he returns to Maine’s company. Grif catches sight of his own name sign on Maine’s hands and turns back to the middle of the movie with a huff. He uselessly tells a tipsy Simmons to remind him to interrogate them tomorrow for gossiping. 

Grif is actually getting into Donut and Wash humming along to Bop to the Top when drunk Church shakes out of his stupor and addresses him. 

“Thanks,” he says. 

“Think you’ve got the wrong guy. I haven’t done much of anything recently.”

Church glares. “You know what I mean. And you’ve been training all day. Don’t lie, I saw.”

Church reaches down and grabs Donut by the collar of his tacky Hawaiian shirt, hauling him up to the couch. Wash spares them a glance but sticks with his fort. They’re all aware that Church wouldn’t have been able to move Donut if Donut didn’t want to be moved. Simmons and Carolina scooch to one side of the couch so the odd group can have their relative privacy, however short-lived it’s bound to be.

“You guys,” Church says around a hiccup, “are kinda cool.”

Donut and Grif have a sidebar through eye contact alone and determine he’s serious. But Church interrupts anyway, his words running together.

“No I’m not sayin’ it cuz I had a little to drink I’ve literally said it already only not where any, any, uh non-Blues could hear but like I mean it so let’s uhh… Buds?”

Caboose perks up at the word and vaults over the couch. Which is a great thing to do to the hot-head who’s out of it. He protests and squirms as Caboose settles half on top of him. He only starts to chill out when Caboose notices he’s crushing him and flips them so Church can use him as a pillow. 

“I’ll be your buddy!” Caboose announces as though he hadn’t interrupted their whole thing. 

Church’s vague displeasure collapses into something softer. “Already buddies, bud.” 

Caboose squeezes him around the middle so enthusiastically, Grif is surprised Church doesn’t make a noise like a squeaky toy, but he does cough and visibly struggle to catch his breath when Caboose eases off.

Donut and Grif intrude in silence for a bit.

“So,” Grif starts elegantly.

“Oh yeah.” Church weakly pats them both on the shoulder. “Good talk.”

“Real quick though, can you tell us what’s cool about us?” Donut asks as innocently as possible while slipping his phone out of his booty shorts pocket. Grif would high five him if it wouldn’t give them away.

“Duh! You’re like. Like, Grif, I always said in the Gulch that I could tell you were smart like me and I was right of course I’m always right and here you are almost as cool as me. With your. Big alien gun knife whatever and your allies and your. Being the least dumb Red thing.” 

He was a cocky weasel of a man, but Grif would take the compliments. 

“And you.” Church nearly pokes Donut in the working eye with how aggressively he points. “Back in the day I just thought you were nice. Not an asshole like all the others, sorry Grif. And I was right again and now you’ve done time travelling save-the-universe stuff. Cool.”

Grif is about to comment when Simmons cuts their shining moment short. He’s got around to having three cups and he sprawls all over Grif laughing at how obviously drunk and ridiculous Church is being. Grif knows because Simmons put his lips right over his ear to whisper jokes about the guy that he suddenly can’t laugh at, can barely hear. Time seems to slow to a crawl and Grif’s mind floods with anxiety like it hasn’t done in years. Touching Simmons right now, he feels the weight of his inadequacy. What if Simmons doesn’t like him in the same way as Grif? Or worse. What if he thinks he _does?_

And then Simmons looks back at him and shifts to a more comfortable position, his head resting on the curve of Grif’s stomach, flesh hand thoughtlessly petting the strip of skin exposed at the end of his shirt like it’s the most natural thing.

“Y’alright?” 

If people still swooned, that’s what Grif was doing right then. HOW was that word so sweet? The way he said it and the look on his face, brows drawn in worry, deep wide-eyed intoxication, making his head spin… 

Grif is romanticizing. He knows it, suspects he’ll regret it, and cups Simmons’ cheek and nods anyway. Simmons smiles right at him and time no longer traps him in the present. Slowly, the events of the day come back to mind. Locus and Maine and Donut and Carolina and Church and even further back, the games he enjoyed with everyone. That everyone enjoyed with _him_. He isn’t abandoned on a rock in the middle of nowhere. He has friends. A family.

As if Kai can sense his thoughts, she belatedly makes herself known from the seat behind him, breaking the last of his inner tension.

“You’re drunk too, dunkass.” She levels a mocking smile at Simmons and bops him on the shoulder. “And getting awful handsy with my bro.”

“Am not.” He stands to make his point but sways so wildly on the way up that Grif pulls him back to the couch.

“It’s okay, Kai.” Grif says. “He’s not taking advantage of my delicate constitution.”

She squints at them.

“If you say so, Dex. But you better be cool, Terminator, or I’m entering next week’s competition and making sure you never get to make everyone watch your Star whatevers.

She notices Simmons lift a hand and open his mouth like he’s about to spout some nerd shit and she releases the metaphorical Kraken.

“SILENCE, bottom.”

No one says a word for the most uncomfortable handful of seconds. In Simmons’ case, likely from not understanding what she said. Donut, though, has his had to his mouth in shock.

Grif knows he has to be the one to take her on.

“Interesting choice. You’re uh, not gonna use the virgin bit?” 

Kai maintains horribly painful eye contact. 

“I know what I said, Brother.” She holds for one second more before laughing. “Annnd now I’m done gently bullying you guys. I’m down with all this, by the way. Seriously. Congrats and stuff. Dex is perfect for you, nerdbot. He’s got a lot of ass to kiss.”

“KAI.” Grif grouses at the same time as Simmons gives a sleepy, “Thanks.”   
  


“What?” she shoots back and puffs out her chest. “Us Grifs are dummy thicc and PROUD, bro.”

“Just stop ancient memeing. You’re spending too much time with Tucker.”

She sticks out her tongue. 

Donut butts in, a little too loud and fast and ready to reassure. “She’s right, Grif!! You’re cool and sexy my man my friend c’mon everyone’s a little into you.”

Grif doesn’t know how to respond to that. He settles for quiet disbelief.

“MY THEORY,” Donut says even louder, “is that they don’t know how to deal with it and resort to violence as an outlet. For shame. I know most of you are allergic to emotional vulnerability but I’m here I’ll be brave for y’all so you can be real be authentic BE TRUE TO YOURSELVES BE. NOT. AFRAID.”

He’s throwing his head back and raising his fists to the sky by the end of his speech. It’s actually really inspiring with Breakin’ Free in the background. Wash claps.

Grif covertly scans the suddenly much quieter room of terrible liars, the guilty staring at walls or into their cups or making weird faces. For some people it’s subtle, but Grif ain’t a gambler because he’s good with cards. Well then. Thank goodness Sarge was sleeping. 

He can’t help smiling to himself but rolls his eyes in case anyone looks. It’s nice to feel wanted, even for something as dumb as misplaced romantic hope. He carefully packs the evidence into the same mental storage where he keeps his sappy “I love my friends” thoughts.

The credits are rolling and Simmons is jelly-boned and slipping off his lap. Grif takes it upon himself to gather his noodly limbs in his arms and be the escort to their room.


	4. Epilogue: Ass-Inspired Love Confessions

It’s half an hour before morning Stealth and Grif hasn’t moved an inch since midnight, ruminating over the empty bed across from his.

There’s a shifting on top of him.

“So,” Simmons mumbles into his shoulder, “we should probably talk.” 

Grif can’t bring himself to open his mouth. He grunts.

Simmons pulls back to look down at him, annoyed. “I know seriously talking isn’t really our thing, but don’t go all Maine on me.”

“Hey,” he weakly rebuts, “he couldn’t say anything out loud if he wanted to. And don’t talk about him while we’re like this. Knowing he’s probably got a thing for me too is- well, it’s flattering and honestly kind of hot but it’s also weird right now.”

“Ugh, nevermind, let’s go back to being repressed and never expressing our personal thoughts and feelings.”

“No, wait. I think Donut was right.”

“So it’s _Donut_ now?” 

“Okay if we’re gonna do this for real you can’t be so jealous. I can’t change the fact that I’m such a great catch and a third of the people on this moon would be down to clown with yours truly.” Grif shakes his head at the thought and starts to rub up and down Simmons’ back. He’s confused when Simmons makes this irritating, haughty face.

“Yeah it does make you feel like a clown.” 

So it’s like _that,_ is it? Grif mirrors the expression.

“That’s not what you said last night, Ronald McDonald.”

“We didn’t fuck last night,” he says, pouting and red in the face anyway.

Grif plays it innocent. “Oh, did you want to?” 

“No!” Simmons says on reflex. “I mean, yes! I mean- whatever!” He presses his face into Grif’s neck. The heat radiating off him is answer enough. Grif kisses his forehead.

“We can do whatever you want when you’re not three margaritas deep and baiting Church into kicking your ass.”

“Church couldn’t kick my ass.”

“Because it’s nonexistent?”

“Hey! No, because he’d miss.”

“I wouldn’t blame him for once. Pretty hard to hit a target that small.” 

“Grif! This conversation is not supposed to be about my ass.”

“Sorry, I just like it so much.”

Simmons is not appeased. Grif tries again.

“ _And_ the guy it’s attached to.”

Nailed it.

“I guess I like you too.” He concedes. “And your ass.” 

Grif was probably about to say something lovey-dovey but his jaw clicks shut and Simmons yelps as the door slams open. Locus doesn’t even cross the threshold and has a preemptive hand over his eyes as he grits out his message. 

“Grif. Training.” 

“Locus, Simmons and I aren’t doing anything.”

“Two minutes.”

“We’re fully clothed, I promise.

Locus turns and stalks out the door but he doesn’t close it, and Grif can see all the eyes peeking around the corner down the hall. Simmons pulls a knife out of nowhere and brandishes it at Grif’s eager suitors. 

“Back, you floozies!”

The crowd scatters as Grif exclaims, “WHERE do you keep that thing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wonderful art by @galeuthan !!!
> 
> bigger version: https://galeuthan.tumblr.com/post/186672938964/i-drew-one-of-my-favorite-scenes-from-iriss-most

**Author's Note:**

> its-a me @secretliveblogblog


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